


Come Softly To Me

by Birdfluff



Category: BioShock
Genre: Atlas is Not Frank Fontaine, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdfluff/pseuds/Birdfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An undesirable obsession about a voice was the last thing Jack needed as he treks through Rapture</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Softly To Me

Atlas had an astoundingly attractive accent that took Jack by surprise as he so sweetly asked to tote the giant radio around when he arrived in Rapture. Whenever the radio crackled at his hip, that weight would lift off his shoulders. On the constant look out for anything that could kill him, he could never calm down, but, when the sound of Atlas' voice echoed through his ears, the world around him seem to freeze so he could listen.

Having a friend down in the depths of the ocean helped him keep sane.

Other than Altas, a song was on repeat in his mind kept him going. He had no idea where he had heard it from but he knew it was from a woman. That's all his memory could give him. Definitely, the song was not the seemingly therapeutic music all about love, the ocean, and sweetness that came from the speakers. Jack roughly admitted that his echoing song was the somewhat similar but absolutely different. Firstly, he knew well that it did not come from Rapture. It was too slow, too pure.

It reminded him of Atlas as his trek raged on through Neptune's Bounty.

Speaking of, Jack should have made a better first impression other than short answers and grunting to his guide. He didn't give out his name to him. So he called himself a moron whenever he would mechanically respond to Atlas. He must have sounded rude, but Atlas, so far, hasn't made a tasteless remark at how stoic he makes himself out to be. Although, he was above and beyond reserved, Jack couldn't count how many times he had shrieked and frantically misfired his gun as multiple Splicers pounced on him or threw explosives at him. Or how many times he hid behind furniture or inside cabinets to catch his breath. Or at how many times he had flung himself away like a terrified chicken from Big Daddy's bombs and gunfire.  
Atlas must be getting a kick out of him through the cameras.

Truly, he was surprised he made it this far. He was going to help Atlas reunite with his family. They were so close, but as the minutes ticked by, as he stepped closer to the submarine, eventually doubt caved into his mind. It wasn't a simple trust issue if Atlas would leave without him. It was that he had a family. Selfish, disgusting, and maybe brash, he knew those thoughts were unpleasant. However, he couldn't tell if it were out of jealousy that he did have a family of his own or that he desired for the man behind the voice. Wishing for the latter to not be his true feelings, he pushed himself forward. He had had thoughts of what the mystery man could look like but his brain was not of that creative. The posters helped. It gave him a dashing appearance, he silently craved was accurate.

As he spoke, Atlas was getting desperate, to see his family again and to meet this stranger he had guided. When asked to pull the switch and let him inside where the submarine hung, for once Jack hesitated on his request.

“What's going on up there? Boyo? You still there?” The Irishman's voice rattled through his mind.

Quickly, he brought the switch downward and the submarine began to sway loudly while beeping periodically announced itself from the control. Suddenly Jack noticed a figure run into his line of sight and any ounce of air left his lungs. It was him.

Atlas was looking up at him, screaming fitfully through the radio, “You blow a fuse up there? Can't see a damn thing in that booth. Give me a tick, and I'll get you out of there.”

Jack's heart sank as he turned towards the sub, “Moira! Can you hear me in there, darling?!”

This desolated everything inside him as his body refused to function. He's going to be happy, now thanks to me, he repeated, he has his wife now.. he has...thanks to me... me. From this, he couldn't hear the radio being hijacked by Andrew Ryan. His words fell on deaf ears until;  
“--anything... except just stand here... and watch him die.”

On cue a smoke burst out of the pipe that fell and now blocked his view of Atlas, knocking him out of his trance. Jack stumbled until his back met metal as that Irish accent gained control of the radio, “Splicers! They're everywhere! I can't hold 'em, got to fall back. Get me family out and we'll regroup as soon as we can...!”

“Yes,” he called back dejectedly, slowly separating himself from the wall.

He hated fighting these deformed humans. They were like animals with skin and a human heart, crying out to God until their eyes laid upon him. Horrifying as they were, there could be no hesitation in defending himself against them. After he finally made it down the ramps and into the hallways towards the room of the submarine, it exploded.

Atlas' wail could be heard clearly with or without the help of the radio. It left Jack alone with twisted torn thoughts. Was he glad? Was he disappointed? Was he remorseful? His gut churned and vibrated, undetermined. Willingly, he ignored Andrew's interference to press on. This was all _his_ fault. This bastard had to make everything more complicated for him. For Atlas. He was disgusting. Like him, what Jack was feeling now, he felt revolting that his mind was this tainted.

To this, his heart leaped into his throat at the sound of the Irishman's moaning through his tears, “Get out... Get out and get to Arcadia... Jesus Christ...!”

Unable to register anything else, he sprinted up the stairs and into the bathysphere.

~~~

“Moira... Patrick.. Ain't that just like Ryan, waits until we're almost out, and then he pulls the string. We'll find the bastard, we'll find him and we'll tear his heart out.” He was violent. Violently determined for vengeance. He had the right mind to be. Jack too felt similar, but not seeking for vengeance. At the moment, he wasn't sure what he was looking for.

What he knew now is that the way whenever Atlas spoke now, when his voice was deep and low, full of passion, it sent chills up his spine. It made him feel... well, he couldn't go into that. He didn't let himself go into full detail. If he could ignore it, if he could press on without much thought, those thoughts could move on and leave him alone.

When a Houdini Splicer silently appeared behind him, before he could enter the door to the Rolling Hills, she knocked him swiftly off his feet. Resilient, he returned to his feet to take out his shotgun to meet not the disappearing Splicer but another leather head Splicer with a machine gun that was firing away. It only took two fast shots to his head to take him down but now his legs ached. Already the Houdini Splicer reappeared to tease him some more but had not accounted for the oncoming wrench that broke her neck on impact. Jack did not bother to scavenge through their bodies. He had enough first aid kits, he knew he would be alright. He could easily take the bullets out.

Heaving his limp legs, Jack enter through the door. At the sight of the turret, he hurriedly hid behind the tree before a RPG rocket could make more of a dent on his body. Rummaging through his bag, he found that he had used up all of his aid kits.

“Shit...” he licked his chapped lips. His eyes soon drifted to his waist where the radio hung at his belt. His thoughts tormented him instantly, begging for him to call Atlas. He can help you. You can see him up close. You can **touch** him.

Unknowingly his hand clasped over the transceiver and clicked it on, “Atlas?”

“I'm here, boyo.”

His mouth became dry once he realized what he had done and how late it was to turn back, “I-I have a bit of uh... problem.”

“You don't sound good,” he had noticed his abrupt breathing pattern, “Where are you?”

“R-Rolling Hills,” he wanted to keel over the fact that his voice cracked. “I can't move... There's a turret behind me and a Little Sister vent in front of me.”

“Aheh, you've really gotten yourself into a big mess, haven't you?”

It was strange to hear him laugh at this. Then again, it's possible to be his defense mechanism for his tragic loss. Laughter was the best medicine but in this situation it just seemed almost morbid.

“What are we going to do?”

“Let me see...” his silence was not endearing, “I could send a kit to you--”

“Why can't you come here?” Jack quietly banged the back of his head against the tree. That makes the most embarrassing thing he could say to him.

“Come there..?”

“I mean, you don't.. have to. A kit's fine. I think, I have a bullet or two stuck in my legs. I have most of the cameras here hacked-- if.. if you're worried about Andrew...”

That wasn't subtle. Of course, he had been hacking everything that alone has become a habit. Zap and hack, essentially. This somehow turned into a hunt for any cameras so that Atlas could see him.  
“Your location again?”

“Rolling Hills. I'm just outside the door.”

“Right. Stand by.”

“Will do,” Jack harshly sighed through his nose as he set the radio down on his lap. What an idiot he had become. It was enough to question his sanity at this point.

Soon that song raided through his mind. It hadn't for quite a while that he was worried that he had forgotten the lyrics. At first, he hummed the tune before wistfully breaking into the song, “Come softly, darling. Come to me, sta-ay. You're my ob-session. For ever and a da-ay.”

His eyes closed and kept his position still so it would not trigger anymore unwanted pain as his voice carried on. It helped him regain control of his lack of breathe. When the song ended, he started over and hummed once more. It finally got his thoughts on something that wasn't his guide. His own voice soothed his tense muscles.

“You've got some nice pipes, boyo.”

His upper torso jerked into alert mode to see the man from the posters right in front him while agony flared up in his legs, yet his attention was on nothing else besides him. His hair and eyes were dark and gorgeous. His clothes bloody and damp. He was close, too damn close to his face. Atlas smiled at his bewilderment.

Gritting his teeth, Jack managed to croak out, “You..you... but...?”

“Might as well regroup, don't you think? I'm not going to let you take all the glory in killing the bastard. Besides, good time as any to get acquainted don't you think? Atlas,” he held out his hand for him to shake.

Hesitantly, he returned the gesture, “Jack.”

Despite of everything that had happened to Atlas, he still tried to be cheerful. It was a defense mechanism. He was dying inside. The temptation to plant his lips on his skin was fierce and almost uncontrollable if his legs weren't a bloodied wounded mess. In fear this would only cause them more trouble, he stayed still and refused to speak further.

“Nice to finally meet you, Jack. Now, let's take a looksee,” the Irishman carefully lifted Jack's injured leg up and rolled up his pant leg to get a better view at the bullet hole. The only thing he could concentrate on was his hands. A lovely break from the overwhelming pain. They were coarse to the touch yet so gentle as if he was handling a baby, which he might as well be it took everything in Jack's power not to melt.  
He was here. In front of him. Touching HIM. And he was attractive as hell just like the posters.

Jack had to stare at him. It was the only way he could know this was happening. He watched his guide take out the bullets and clean his wounds before bandaging them with great care. With this skill and gentleness, it's obvious that he has done this a numerous amount of times.

“If you don't mind me asking, what was that song you were singing?” Jack was beyond grateful that he did not look up from his work.

“I don't remember the name, but it's always been with me. It must be from the surface. It's too beautiful to belong down in this hell hole... like you.”

His chest tightened at the drastic change in Atlas' once calm expression. He did not meet his eye nor did he stop stitching up his scar tissue.

“That's mighty sweet of ya to say.”

Embarrassed, his hands met his face and slowly moved through his hair. His hands stopped at his neck and his head leaned as he glared up at the leaves. Inwardly he yelled at himself. He wished he hadn't said anything. He could have just died. It would be so easy to die and have the Vita-Chamber return him back to health. Atlas had to be the first thing on his mind, like an obsession. Ignoring it again wasn't going to make it leave.

“Finished here. How you feeling?” he swallowed quietly as the Irishman's face crept closer, “You look white as a sheet.”

“I-I think I'll be alright.” 

Atlas nodded and ended up taking a seat beside him with a small grunt, "Might as well wait until the painkillers kick in."

It was up until now when Jack finally noticed his wounds. His brain too busy on the fact that he was touching him, could fabricate that his guide too was injured. "Are.. you alright?"

"Oh, don't you worry about this old man. I'll be fine," he gave his arm an affectionate pat before leaning his head against the tree trunk as his eyes shut.

Jack's body finally defied him and acted on his one remaining thought. He kissed him. It was on his cheek but he did it. It didn't last long when he brought himself to pull away, his eyes were squeezed tight.  
He did not forgive his own actions. Everything up to this point was a revolting mess. He got to know him, loved him, and soon desired him even with his family alive or not. Guilt hung around him like gas, killing him slowly. He couldn't even bring out the words to apologize.

“Is.. that how they say thanks in your country?”

Jack had to blink multiple times in order to process what was going through his mind and his surroundings. Atlas' warm smile was breathtaking. Amusement in his eyes... he wasn't mad? Did he find it charming? All he knew is that they couldn't be lovers right off the bat, Atlas had recovering to do and so did he after they escape Rapture.

After the kiss his mind felt more at ease by his response alone. He was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. He wishfully hoped at least. Slowly Jack returned the smile, “In.. in a way.”

The Irishman let himself giggle, his eyes closed once more, "I do appreciate it, but do warn or ask me next time."

For a moment he was worried that his plasmid acted up with how hot his skin felt. Shit, that was inappropriate, wasn't it?

"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that." He began stuttering as he desperately explained himself until his guide was frowning.

"You no need to say anything else, Jack, I forgive you. Really, you feeling that way about me isn't the worst thing that's happened to me." he added what would be jokingly if not for the grimace, "Can you grant me a little quiet, please? This headache's a killer."

"Yes! I'm sorry." Finally silence fell around them, except in Jack's head. It was less of raging war and more of trying to choke his anxiety down. As time trucked on, he managed to gain feeling in his legs again that wasn't agony and stretched them out carefully. Occasionally, he would glance over at his partner. The frown had disappear and replaced with a flat line. His breathing had become heavy. He must have fallen asleep. Should he follow? No, someone needed to look out for Splicers or Little Sisters mistaking him for an 'angel'. So far, there wasn't even a stir from their peace. Everything was just as silent and will stay silent, he hoped. Sans the fact of the running water and the turret beeping behind them.

Eventually the body beside him shifted. Atlas rotated his neck stiffly, his eyebrows knitted firmly. Inhaling deeply, he opened his sea blue eyes and squinted as if he were in pain. Even after a short nap, he still seemed exhausted and had awoken from a bad dream. Jack eyed at him apprehensively. Slowly his guide stood up, stretching out his back, "Feelin' ready, boyo?"

Stumbling slightly the young man got onto his feet and nodded, unable to trust his mouth even when he desired to inquire about his state. With one look at his partner's concerned countenance, the Irishman squeezed his hand before flashing a small reassuring smile.


End file.
